


N is for Nameless

by goodmorningvietnam666



Series: IronHawk Alphabet [14]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Comedy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance, SO MUCH BANTER, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tony thinks he doesn't have a match, until he meets Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorningvietnam666/pseuds/goodmorningvietnam666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is born with a word tattooed on their body - everyone has a match somewhere in the world. </p>
<p>Tony is pretty sure his word belongs to someone long dead.</p>
<p>He doesn't know this yet, but the person he's looking for is very close at hand: he just has to be brave.</p>
<p>But after so much rejection, how can he?</p>
<p>Thankfully, he has Clint Barton to teach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	N is for Nameless

**Author's Note:**

> We are officially over the half way mark! This is both exciting and sort of devastating because it means that the series is slowly drawing to a close, and I've been having a tonne of fun writing these: even if at times I'm stuck on one for weeks!
> 
> The letter N, strangely, went through a thousand different words, only due to the fact that none seemed to fit and I'm incredibly picky. 
> 
> But, here it is, finally, after a long gap since the last one: enjoy the read!

Out of all the others, Tony Stark felt his least favorite word was ‘no’. 

Every person in the world was born with a word tattooed on their body, where it was didn’t really matter, neither did the size or shape; what mattered was what the word was. He’d been skeptical for a long time about this belief that everyone had a match to their particular word: the reason for his doubt was that his word was uncommon; it was as if the creator of these words had run out of ideas and had said ‘just throw any old word on his arm – he won’t mind’.

But he did mind: it was why he hated the word ‘no’ so much – it was a common response to his own search for his pair. 

His word was ‘nettlesome’.

It meant irritable, difficult, and no one he had met had known what its definition was when he’d shown them the terrible word etched on the inside of his forearm. 

‘Nettlesome’.

It was proving to reflect the personality of its wearer. 

He was thankful that he had his work, and that his new ascension in SHIELD’s ranks to co-director was keeping him busy – it meant he didn’t have the time to feel sorry for himself, or to search for someone with a word that was, or should have been, too old to be in the dictionary. 

“Stark”

He was pulled from his thoughts by Nick Fury, and he offered a smile of apology to the man, his eyes drawing to the cursive black writing on the man’s neck: _‘stern’_ : it was the perfect adjective for his associate. 

“Sorry Nick” he said softly, rubbing at his temple with his left hand’s fingers “I am trying”

“Take a walk and clear your head” Fury replied, his gaze softening from the scowl it had been wearing “When you get back with a fresh head it’ll all get easier – trust me”

He nodded, sighing, and when he would look back on this day he would be glad that he had agreed on Fury’s suggestion, because that walk would win him his soul mate. 

Not that he knew that. 

Not keen on being asked a thousand questions when he approached the bridge, he took the long route and descended into the hangar, where he could see the sky with the hum of machinery in his ears and the sound of work all around him, where he could let his mind wander, and where he could dive into an engine if he felt the need to distract himself further. 

His eyes were drawn to the Quinjet currently pulling into the hangar, but more so to the man piloting it. 

He was gorgeous. 

The man was tall, he measured about 6 foot 3 by judging his height against nearby agents, and the jumpsuit he was currently struggling out of only helped make him look taller by thinning out broad shoulders and a muscular body that seemed chiselled even when covered by a shirt and then a leather jacket. He had short cut blonde hair that looked like fine gold when it caught the light and sparkling blue eyes that shone with humour. 

He was within speaking distance in moments, the option of a quiet moment with his thoughts long forgotten, and when the man’s gaze caught his, a smile came and he felt his heart stutter in a way that was unfamiliar to him. 

“You’re Fury’s co-director aren’t you?”

He hadn’t expected the accent, but it only added to the man’s unique features, and he hadn’t expected to be the one answering questions, but neither of these things were horrible surprises. 

“Yes” he answered concisely, his voice sounding like someone else’s to his ears “Are you new? I’d think six months on board would have introduced me to everyone by now” he continued, wanting a name to add to this face: now. 

“No, uh, I’ve been in Peru for the last year – undercover mission – I’m Agent Clint Barton” the man replied, holding out a hand to be shaken.

As he took it the information clicked into place: Clint Barton was a name often spoken about the base – SHIELD agents and handlers admired him as the agent that could do anything, that dove into reckless situations and came out without any scars: Fury had admitted that Barton was indeed one of their best, even if he could be difficult. 

“Tony Stark” he replied automatically “Glad to have finally met the notorious Hawkeye” he added, watching a grin spread across the blonde’s face and feeling his heart skip a few beats. 

He was Tony Stark – he needed to compose himself now – but there was doubt in the back of his mind: it was likely this man had never heard of his word either, and even as his eyes wandered he found no evidence of a word on the blonde’s exposed skin.

Nettlesome. 

How he hated that word – not as much as ‘no’, but the hatred was still there.

“Glad to meet the guy Coulson thinks will take SHIELD over in a year” Clint replied, that grin still present “What are you doing down in the hangar? Planning to bail on us?”

_Not anymore_ he thought, determination filling him with confidence “No, just needed to clear my head, all of the paperwork is drowning me” he explained

Clint nodded and gestured that they should walk, and he noted just how tall the blonde was as he stood next to him – at least two inches higher than himself from the ground. 

It was perfect: he was perfect. 

His word was probably perfect – likely etched in a perfect place in perfect little letters that suited this man perfectly. 

“Don’t you own a business? I’d have thought management would be second nature to you – it sure isn’t to Fury” Clint questioned, the smile gone from his lips but still evident in his eyes. 

He shook his head, a smile fighting its way onto his face “It’s easy, sure, but it’s still tiring in the end and well, it’s repetitive too and… I’m not really a man who can do the same thing for hours and be content about it”

The blonde hummed in what sounded like agreement “I get it” he added for assurance “I mean, my mind probably isn’t as hyperactive as yours – you being a genius and all – but yeah, I guess after a while everyone needs a change of scenery, a change of company, that kind of stuff”

“Exactly” he agreed, his smile growing without any effort on his part, it seemed to fall slightly when they approached his office, but before he could speak Clint was already talking. 

“You probably have a tonne of work to do – and I’m completely okay with that – but, just a shot in the dark here, do you feel like touching base? Going for a walk or something? You know, on solid ground?”

The grin returned and he was glad he wasn’t facing the blonde at the time because he could feel heat on his cheeks and the strain of a wide grin on his face “We’d get into trouble”

“My middle name is trouble”

“Is that so?”

“Well, actually, it’s Francis… but, it should be Trouble”

“I’d love to”

///

Their walks became routine – whenever Clint returned to base after a mission they’d head down to whichever city the helicarrier was orbiting and walk, talking about themselves, their lives, habits, likes and dislikes and somewhere along the lines, they became friends. 

It was a strange kind of friendship – even for Tony – because it wasn’t what most would expect - it was banter and insults and sometimes the odd moment of flirting but he felt close to Clint, closer than he felt to most people, and he cherished each and every moment with the reckless blonde. 

He loved him. 

He knew this, had known this from the moment they’d met that he was in love, and it killed him. He didn’t know what Clint thought of the idea of soul mates, or what he thought of love, and he was too afraid to ask, too afraid of ‘no’. 

The next walk they took was in London, and it was snowing. He had wrapped himself in warm clothes, allergic to the cold and the way it affected him, but Clint had barely thought of this, the only difference to his usual jacket and jeans combo was the addition of a hooded jumper beneath the leather, the grey hood resting over the jacket’s collar. 

Flecks of snow had found their way into the blonde’s hair, and when the brief rays of sunlight caught them they sparkled which made him smile without any thought to it. He loved this man, loved that he made him smile in a way that was pure and genuine, in a way that held no force; he loved smiling, but he especially loved it when it was real. 

“Your teeth are chattering” Clint teased, and he let out a shaky chuckle, watching fog leave his mouth and dissipate into nothing, eyes upturned with humour. 

“Thanks” he commented “I had no idea” 

“Just thought I’d say it”

“Glad to see you don’t have a brain to mouth filter either”

Clint laughed and it was a pure, beautiful sound, full and real; whenever the blonde did so his eyes gained this spark to them, one that Tony couldn’t help but smile in response to. 

“Did you know we’ve been doing this for a whole year? Coulson mentioned it to me – I didn’t realise it had been so long” Clint noted, a smile still lingering on his lips. 

He shook his head “I didn’t either” he admitted “Time doesn’t pass the same way when I’m around you” he was shaking, but it wasn’t from the cold, it was from the truth that had spilled out without permission. 

“Yeah, I get that, hours don’t really feel like hours during these walks – it passes so quickly it makes me wish I was around more”

He wasn’t sure what Clint had meant by that reply, but he smiled nonetheless “I’ll take that as a compliment”

“I was hoping you would”

///

The next few months of their ritual seemed different after the one they’d had in London, it was as if he’d let Clint in just a little further and suddenly the blonde knew his whole life story and he knew Clint’s – there was more than just banter and mutual likes, there was a deep understanding that had taken much of the burden he had carried away and suddenly he was a changed man. 

He smiled more often, the press noticed too, and it was almost always real, his laughter had more substance, more meaning, than it had before, the friends he had suddenly knew the man he was, the man he had been hiding and to only his surprise they preferred the change, commented on his lively, almost youthful nature and he felt grateful to Clint Barton – his unlikely friend that seemed more like a gift from fate or whatever force truly controlled the universe – for helping the change along without knowing he was doing it. 

They were in Sydney, walking the beach, barefoot and dressed lightly to ward off the intense Australian heat. He’d seen Clint dressed up, and down, with thousands of layers and with one, but he had yet to see the word he knew was tattooed on his body.

He found he didn’t really mind however, and he felt less inclined to cover his own up, so today he had gone without long sleeves and was pleased to find that Clint’s gaze never bothered to stray to the black, printed word on his inner right forearm, glaring at him with a lot less intensity than it had initially seemed to. 

“I gotta ask because it’s probably going to annoy me” Clint spoke up after about ten minutes of companionable silence “What’s it say?”

His smile faltered just slightly, and he found he could resist the urge to shut himself away, which was a nice change, it felt freeing and the answer held no weight to it. He laughed, full and real, and he managed to shorten his breath from the action, so after a moment to compose himself, he answered.

“It’s so goddamn stupid” he began, a chuckle chasing the words “Nettlesome” he answered “It’s as though they ran out of ideas”

“Genius would have more appropriate” Clint agreed, a smile in his eyes, and Tony could have sworn he caught something else in his gaze, but he let it be. 

///

New York was where they met next, and it felt as though he’d been away for years, even though he’d been in the city only days ago, and it was where he finally gained the courage to ask the question that had been bothering him since Clint’s own in Sydney. 

“So, where the hell is yours?” he asked after a good-natured argument about walking (which had an interesting story behind it that he knew Pepper would love hearing about – it would make her laugh). 

Clint seemed to think for a moment and a chuckle split his lips into a grin “You know, I almost lied right there, thought about telling you it was somewhere only lovers got to see, but I think I wouldn’t have kept a straight enough face”

He chuckled “You might have fooled me you know” he replied, the joke putting him at ease, slowing his thudding heartbeat. 

“It’s on my collarbone – it’s why I don’t wear low-necked shirts – I hide it out of habit really… I bet you can’t guess what it is” the blonde challenged, and there was humour and something else Tony couldn’t place in his gaze but he humoured him anyway.

“Archer”

“No”

“Laughter”

“Nope”

He thought for a moment, biting his lower lip softly “Is it… Reckless?”

“You’re never going to get it at this rate – We’ll be here for hours”

“Maybe I want to be here for hours… Perfect?”

“Thank you, but no”

He laughed openly, drawing the attention of passers-by, and shoved Clint gently, the laughter growing when Clint snagged his arm by the elbow and pulled him back in with ease, his strength evident in the fluidity of the action and as he was pulled in he wrapped his arm around a small, well-muscled waist and squeezed, pressing his head into the blonde’s chest, muffling the sound of his laughter. 

“Do you want a clue?”

“No, I’m going to Sherlock Holmes this mother”

Clint laughed and he felt the laughter vibrate in the blonde’s chest “Okay then, you won’t get it”

“Hawk?”

“No”

“Does it have anything to do with you?”

“Sort of”

“How is that an answer?”

“’This isn’t twenty questions”

“It should be” he argued, looking up at the blonde, wearing a frown he hoped looked genuine “This is actually proving to be difficult”

“I can give you a clue” Clint offered, smile still on his face “Otherwise you’re going to be really frustrated”

“Is it irritable?”

“No”

“Difficult?”

“That’s actually pretty close”

His heart did stop for a moment then, beating heavily with a strong dull thud and he stopped walking, feeling Clint take pause next to him. His breathing was steady, but heavy and somehow loud to his ears and he could feel his legs shaking, as though they were about to collapse beneath him. 

It couldn’t be… could it?

Gently, slowly, so as to not startle himself, not to get his hopes up, not make himself believe what his mind was insisting was true, he reached up and hooked two fingers on the collar of Clint’s shirt. 

“Which collar bone?” he asked, and he could feel his voice shaking, watched his hand trembling before his eyes. 

“The right” Clint answered, his voice showing no signs of nervousness, and gently the blonde’s hand enveloped his own and pulled the material of the shirt down for him. 

His breath caught in his throat, because there, in neat, printed letters was the word ‘nettlesome’.

He cried. 

In the middle of the street, he broke down, letting himself fall into Clint’s form, feeling arms envelope him tightly as his shoulders shook and soft, pitiful sobs escaped his mouth. 

“I hate you” he tried to say it with conviction, but when Clint’s grip tightened he knew the blonde heard it for what it was: 

‘I love you’


End file.
